


Shoulda Listened to Jim Cantore

by carolej126



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolej126/pseuds/carolej126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally published in Blood Brothers 6 (Gold'n Lily Press, 2012)</p><p>Written in response to a "weather" challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoulda Listened to Jim Cantore

And now, your local forecast… 

1\. Fog

35 mph. 30 mph. 25 mph. 

The miles crept by.

White-knuckled grip on the Impala’s steering wheel, Dean leaned forward in his seat, eyes intent on the center line. Unable to see more than a few feet at a time, it was a toss-up as to whether or not it would be safer to stay on the road, or try to pull off.

“Think we should pull off?” Sam asked, unknowingly echoing Dean’s thoughts.

“Can’t see the side of the road,” Dean answered tightly. “Might be grass, might be a ditch, can’t tell in this fog.”

Sam rolled his window down the rest of the way, eyes narrowed in concentration. He shook his head. “I can’t tell either,” he admitted. 

“It’s not frickin’ fair,” Dean complained.

“What’s that?”

“If we’d left yesterday as planned…”

“We’d already be there,” Sam finished wryly. He shook his head. “Hey, look at it this way. It can’t get any-“

“Don’t say it,” Dean warned quickly. 

Sam frowned. “Why not? It can’t get any worse.”

“You had to say it.” Dean nodded toward the road before them. “Son of a...” 

20 mph. 15 mph. 10 mph. 

“At this rate, we’re never gonna get there.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

 

2\. Snow

Forward, backwards, sideways. And never in the direction they wanted to go.

Dean tentatively toed the gas pedal, only to frown in annoyance and sigh as the rear end of the Impala slowly slid toward the ditch. Again. 

Someone else might have thought it beautiful: fluffy flakes filling the air, sparkling crystals covering the ground. 

The proverbial winter wonderland.

Only it wasn’t all that wonderful when you had to drive in it.

“If we had some kitty litter,” Sam started, only to break off at Dean’s sarcastic snort. “What?”

“You wanna check the trunk for kitty litter? Last I knew we were out of that oh-so-essential-for-hunting item.” 

“Okay. Maybe we could find some sand,” Sam suggested, craning his neck to check the surrounding area.

“Sand,” Dean repeated. “You think we can find sand. Out here. In the middle of a damn blizzard.”

“Well.” Sam had the grace to look more than a bit abased. “Okay, maybe not.” His face brightened. “We’ve got salt.”

Dean sighed. Again. “It would take bags and bags of salt, Sam.” 

“So, you want me to get out and push?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. You stand in back of the car, I’ll hit the gas, the car’ll start sliding, and then I’ll run you over.” Dean rolled his eyes. “That should give me some pretty good traction.”

 

3\. Heat

Hot. Too hot. Way too hot.

Fry an egg on the sidewalk hot.

Freakin’ hot.

“Gotta be a hundred and twenty out here,” Sam reported.

“In the shade,” Dean added. He looked around grimly. “If there was any shade.”

Sam peeled his t-shirt away from his body, and then let it limply drape back around him. “Wait in the car?” 

Dean blew out an impatient breath. No breeze. No clouds. No hope of relief. “No.”

“But…”

“One word, Sam.” Dean waited until Sam’s eyebrows rose in question. “Vinyl.”

Sam sighed, raising the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. And not for the first time.

Dean could sympathize, grimacing as the sweat pooled in the small of his back, and soaked through the waistband of his jeans. And his socks… he felt like he was squishing when he walked. Yuck. 

“Hey, Dean?”

“What?”

“It’ll be cooler tomorrow.”

Dean looked at his brother thoughtfully. “How much cooler?”

Sam shrugged. “Few degrees. It’ll still be hot. But there’s supposed to be a breeze.”

He didn’t need to hear any more. The hunt could wait, for a few hours anyway. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

4\. Rain

One shovelful of dirt out. Two shovelfuls of dirt back in. The harder Dean worked, the harder it got.

It had started raining the day before, dampening the grass, watering the limp flowers adorning the gravestones. A light shower that had turned into a torrential downpour.

Mud. Both of them were covered in mud. Dean from head to toe, Sam halfway up his pant legs. 

And the job was nowhere near done. A job that normally would have taken no more than an hour or two, was now approaching six.

“Pay attention, Sam,” Dean called sharply, as the umbrella his brother held shifted position, allowing more rain to pour down on Dean, the newly dug grave, and the casket he was unearthing. 

Sam moved the umbrella back into place, as Dean grumbled unhappily.

Yes, they had finally resorted to using an umbrella, but not one of their own. Their umbrella had seemingly disappeared from the Impala’s trunk. But luckily, Sam had found one, lost, or discarded along the entrance to the cemetery. 

He was betting on discarded, himself. Because no one in their right mind would have used that umbrella. No one over the age of four, anyway.

It definitely wasn’t a manly man’s umbrella. Black, navy blue, even brown or red would have been okay. Although he’d probably pass on red. Nope. It was pink. And not only that, multiple images of Hello Kitty adorned its sides.

“I’m gonna get you for this, Sam,” Dean muttered, totally aware of his brother’s not-so-successful attempts to control his laughter.

 

5\. Wind

Two inches. That’s all. That’s all that stood between a large tree and disaster.

Dean’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was set in an “O.” He swallowed, hard, then again, before finding his voice. “Whoa.”

“That was… close.” Sam relaxed his grip, releasing the front dash, sinking back into his seat.

“Ya think?” Dean retorted. “Another two inches and…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“What the hell was it?” Sam asked. “Tornado?”

Dean shrugged. “Straight line winds, tornado, freakin’ tropical storm, who cares. Whatever it was, it almost crushed my baby.” He patted the steering wheel of the Impala affectionately. 

“What do you mean, your baby? What about us?” Sam craned his neck, looking behind them. “Can you back up?”

“Yep.” Dean slowly put the car into reverse, noticeably wincing as a few low-hanging branches brushed against the top of his car.

As one, they surveyed the area. Trees had been uprooted, wires were dangling dangerously close to the ground, street signs had been blown away, never to be seen again, and…

Sam gestured across the street. “I don’t think we’ll be staying there tonight after all.”

While the large sign out front still advertised comfortable rooms, free wi-fi, and a heated pool, all of those amenities were pretty doubtful, since the motel no longer had a roof. 

“No kidding, Einstein.”

 

And now, your local forecast… 

 

“Yo, Sam,” Dean called from behind the motel’s flimsy bathroom door, “make sure you check the forecast!” 

“I’m on it.”

 

~end~


End file.
